


Happy New Year

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Episode: s05e07 Emily, F/M, Platonic Cuddling, well mostly platonic cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: New Year's Eve after Emily.





	Happy New Year

Scully goes home early on New Year’s Eve and reminds Mulder not to work too long; he grins at her, wishes her a Happy New Year. He doesn’t expect to hear from her again until January. He remains at the office, because there is nothing waiting for him outside of the basement. For a while he’d been toying with the idea of asking Scully to spend the day together. Then Christmas happened and all his plans died right alongside a little girl with Scully’s soulful eyes and no future. Days passed and they didn’t talk about it; lived between sorrow and the need to move on, the inscrutable time between two years. Scully pretends to be fine; has been pretending ever since they came back and she showed up for work with an attitude of steel and the stench of loss clinging to her black suits. Every time Mulder opens his mouth, unwilling and incapable of seeing her suffer, he loses his nerve. There is nothing he can say; none of his words are enough.

Balancing his take-out food and evening entertainment in the form of files, Mulder steps into his apartment shortly after 9 pm. He puts the food on the table, the files on the couch. Before he has time to switch on the lights, he sees his answering machine blink at him. He presses the button and listens as he takes off his coat. The first of two messages starts with silence, then a breath and a muffled ‘shit’. It sounds like Scully. There is a click and the second message confirms it:

“I’m sorry, Mulder. I didn’t mean to-” Scully’s voice is dull, is teary, is too much. Mulder listens with his ear close to the answering machine. Another click – the message is over. He rewinds the message again and again. Something is wrong. The lights still off, Mulder grabs his coat again. The food on the table is forgotten, as are the files. His only thought is Scully.

She doesn’t open the door. He might be impatient, he realizes that. So he knocks again and tries not to make it too frantic. He rummages through his pocket in search of his key, ready to barge in. There is noise from behind the door and a moment later, Scully opens it.

“Mulder?” She is genuinely surprised to see him. She is wearing a robe, her face blotched and red. Her hair is messy as if she’s just woken up. But Mulder finds himself smiling; she is fine. She is standing here in front of him, not abducted, not hurt. 

“You called me,” he says.

“I did?” She runs a hand through her hair, but it’s no use. She glances at him and looks unbearably small and lost. Mulder nods slowly. “Oh.” The word is not more than a whisper.

“Can I come inside?”

“I’m not- Mulder, I’m fine. I- if I called you, I’m sure I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year,” her eyes grow wide for a moment as if she’s no longer sure what day it is, where she is at all, “That’s all.” She smiles at him, or attempts to anyway. There is something about her face, he thinks. He isn’t sure, the sensation new and strange. He has a hunch, decides to just blurt it out.

“Are you drunk, Scully?” The blush breaking out on her cheeks is answer enough for him.

“I may have had a glass of wine,” Scully says and stumbles when she tries to shift her weight from one foot to the other. Mulder’s hand shoots out to grab her elbow. “I’m fine,” she hisses at him with small eyes. Closer to her face now he sees she’s been crying.

“You called me, Scully.”

“Mistake.” He shakes his head.

“Let me in, Scully. Please.” They stare at each other. He knows what he’s asking and she knows it, too. She knows she called him, but she didn’t think he’d come. Her face tells him so. She relents, then; she opens the door further and stumbles away from him. She sits down on the couch and gulps down half a glass of wine.

“If you want any… you know where the glasses are.”

“No, I don’t want any.” He kneels in front of her so that she has to look down at him slightly. He puts his hands on her knees. She feels cold. Way too cold. “I’m not sure you should have any more either.”

“Don’t patronize me, Mulder. I’m celebrating.” Scully’s smile is a sad grimace with the angles all wrong.

“What are you celebrating?” He swallows hard thinking of her little daughter. The few days she spent in her, in their, lives. How different it all could be today. He feels a longing deep inside of him, a tingling. He’s never thought of having children. But now…

“I beat cancer, Mulder,” Scully tells him jolting him back to reality; her voice is soft, full of red, rich wine, “I’m still here. I’m no longer sick. I was pronounced dead and I am still here. That’s a reason to celebrate, isn’t it?” He nods and sees her lips tremble. “If I hadn’t – if you hadn't… I never would have known about her, Mulder. If I had died like I was supposed to, I never would have known about Emily.” His own broken heart joins hers, but even together they can’t make a whole one. Mulder still doesn’t have words; fears that he’ll never have them. He can only offer himself. It’s not much, he thinks, as he opens his arms and she falls into them. She’s shaking in his arms, sobbing.

“Thank you,” she mumbles against his neck. Her hands wander under his coat; he’s forgotten to take it off. “You’re so soft,” she sighs, “and so warm.” Her tears ebb away and she breathes against him heavily, hiccups twice. Mulder rubs her back in slow circles. His knees are starting to hurt, but he’s not going to let go off her. “You’re perfect for cuddling, Mulder.” He can’t help it and chuckles.

“You can cuddle with me any time you want to, Scully. Just say the word.” She pushes against his chest and Mulder’s first instinct is to wipe a few stray tears from her face. Scully lets him.

“You mean it?” She looks impossibly young right now, here in his arms. The only thing he can do is nod. “Could you… I’ll be fine tomorrow, but-” Mulder raises an eyebrow, borrowing her own skepticism, “I will be, Mulder. I just don’t want to be alone for the last few hours of this year. That’s why I called you. I just didn’t know how to ask you… would it be all right if you…,” she takes a deep breath, “Will you please hold me tonight, Mulder?” He doesn’t let his surprise show, nods and gives her a small smile.

“Let me take off my coat,” he whispers against her cheek as he untangles himself from her. He puts it over the back of her couch and Scully, her inhibitions lost in a bottle of wine, takes his hand into hers and leads him into the bedroom. Mulder thinks he hears fireworks go off in the distance. Or maybe that’s just in his head. Scully takes off her robe to reveal one of her satin pajamas. She crawls into her bed and waits for him. Mulder doesn’t trust himself enough so he keeps his clothes on; he’ll get up again as soon as Scully is fast asleep. That’s what he tells himself. As soon as he’s next to her, she puts her arm over his chest, cuddles close. She sighs into his side making his heart flutter.

“Comfortable?” He asks, his voice deep and brittle. Scully hums; a yes, he figures. His hand wanders to her back and he marvels at how warm she feels, how right. Mulder doesn’t want to sleep; this is for Scully. But he closes his eyes anyway, takes in the feeling of having her this close to him. A few minutes later Scully’s breathing falls out of sync with his and he knows she’s asleep. All his plans to leave the bed, settle on her couch to give her space, fall through. Her leg is entwined with his, her hand clutches his shirt and her head is pillowed on his shoulder. She doesn’t want to let him go, even in her sleep. So Mulder holds her, watches her. He knows the exact moment the clock strikes midnight. He glances at Scully, who sleeps on peacefully as a few fireworks pop up in the sky, sizzle away in the nighttime. It’s a new day, a new year. Time to move on; together.

“Happy New Year, Scully,” he whispers and kisses her temple. He hopes it’ll be a good one.


End file.
